Even at this late hour the door is open, and we find Caitlin in the newsroom, sitting before a twenty-one-inch monitor, commanding her staff with a cell phone in one hand and a computer trackball in the other. She’s dressed in jeans and a teal pinpoint button-down, which gives her the look of a college yearbook editor. She waves when she sees me but continues her phone conversation. The newsroom is forty feet long and twenty wide, with a half dozen computer workstations—all in use—and photos of distinguished Natchezians decorating the walls.

“Who’s this?” Caitlin asks, sliding her cell phone into a belt holster as we approach.

“Daniel Kelly. Part of the security from Houston. Kelly, this is Caitlin Masters, fledgling muckraker.”

Caitlin sizes Kelly up as she leads us down a hall, noting his average size and easy demeanor. Falling back beside me, she whispers, “Is he qualified?”

Kelly chuckles softly.

“He just saved my life,” I say in a normal voice. “I’m sold. Have you put tomorrow’s issue to bed?”

Her eyes flash with excitement. “Are you kidding? This town’s about to pop.”

She pushes us into a glass-walled conference room screened with venetian blinds for privacy. “We’re pushing back the deadline as far as we can. Two in the morning if we have to.”

“Can you do that?”

“With computers we can reformat the whole paper and go to plate in thirty minutes. There’s a rumor that the police are close to an arrest in the Whitestone killing. And we must have gotten a dozen calls about people carrying guns in and out of their houses. They’re saying it’s just like it was before the riot in sixty-eight.”

“That wasn’t much of a riot. Everybody was scared to death, but nobody got killed. Just a bunch of broken store windows.”

“Let’s hope that’s all that happens this time.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.”

She gives me an icy look. “You think I want the town to explode so I can sell papers?”

“No.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “Three hours ago a CNN crew yelled a question at John Portman as he was leaving the Hoover Building. He walked over and told them on camera that the Del Payton case involved matters of national security, and that the FBI was looking into the question of whether you or I had violated any laws in our pursuit of the case.”

“The best defense is a good offense, I guess. Anything else I should know?”

“Leo Marston’s attorney gave me a phone interview. He said your charges are ridiculous and they’re going to cost both of us seven figures. I’m running it tomorrow.”

“I expected that.”